


Sacrifice

by snowshus



Category: Arkham Horror Files, Mansions of Madness (Board Game)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Silver Twilight Lodge, dark rituals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-23
Updated: 2020-10-23
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:14:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27166420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snowshus/pseuds/snowshus
Summary: Preston has come back to Arkham for his father's funeral, the service does not go as he expected.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 3
Collections: Trick or Treat Exchange 2020





	Sacrifice

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Quin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quin/gifts).



Arkham always seems to have a permanent haze over it. Preston had forgotten how grey the skies always were in his years away. He vaguely considers not getting off the train as it pulls into the station. He’ll just stay here, ride on to the next town or the one after. He hasn’t been back since his father sent him to Cambridge to get a good education in anything he wanted as long as it wasn’t here. His father had always insisted on that, Preston could do anything he wanted as long as he did it somewhere else. 

They had grown distant as Preston had grown older and his father had begun pushing him away at every chance. It was hard to reconcile the man Preston had barely known in the last few years of his life with the father who had always doted on him. Who, when Preston had been fourteen and terribly afraid of his inclinations, had somehow sensed it and told Preston the only thing he cared about was Preston’s happiness, however he found it. It was a memory Preston held close when his father had sent him away and gently refused every request to come home.

He could not refuse Preston in death and in honor of the man who had for so long cared only for Preston’s happiness Preston is here-home for the first time in ten years-to say goodbye.

The train grinds to a stop at Arkham Station and Preston stands. Arkham’s grey skies hover close and call him out. A hand closes around Preston’s arm as he steps onto the crowded platform. He turns to face his assailant expecting either a beggar or one of the household employees hoping to get his attention. The man attached to the hand certainly looks the beggar type. His hand is dirty, leaving smudges of grime on the pressed white of Preston’s sleeve. 

Preston is reaching for his wallet. He has more than enough money that giving a five dollar note away is nothing. He always gives to the beggars, like his father had. He’d told Preston once that their money had come at expense of many people’s lives and well they could not undo what had already been done, at least they could do these small things. Preston had never been able to figure out what that meant but he had followed the example and always given away money to every beggar he passed.

The man does not ask for money. “You’re going to die,” he says instead. It should be a threat but it sounds more like a plea. Preston tries to step away, to pull his arm out of the man’s firm grip. 

“Let go,” Preston jerks his arm back again but the man just pulls it closer.

“When you smell the roses, run. It wants you, it has your taste already.”

“I said let go,” Preston twists his arm and pulls back and when the man obeys his command this time he stumbles back into a crowd of travellers coming out of a newly arrived train. The man disappears in the crowd around them. 

A hand closes on Preston’s elbow. He jerks away immediately spinning around to face the man again only to find Doctor Carl Sanford behind him smiling the same wane smile Preston remembers from the few times they had met during his childhood. He looks very much unchanged from the last time they met. His hair had gone white fairly early in life and he had a long unflattering beard that seemed to be required of all academics. Preston knows very little of what Dr. Sanford actually studies, only that his research had been largely funded by Preston’s family. That’s probably Preston’s responsibility now. Well, he’ll have to direct Dr. Sanford to one of the accountants or secretaries who did the actual running of the business. Father had spoken very highly of Ms. Phan, who had come into their employ after Mr. Thomas's unfortunate demise had left the Fairmonts the sole owners of the firm they had been partners in. Maybe Preston could just have her take care of everything. 

“Preston? What a lovely surprise.” Dr. Sanford steadies Preston with a gentle hand. “I’d hoped you’d be back in time for your father’s memorial. You are coming tonight, aren’t you?”

“Yes, of course. I wouldn’t miss it.” Preston smiles back, trying to put the strange encounter with the beggar out of his mind. It was Arkham and strange things happened in Arkham. 

“Excellent.” Dr. Sanford pats his arm. “Well, I must be off, see you tonight. We’ll be expecting you.”

“Of course. See you tonight.”

“Oh, and Preston, my boy, “I’m very sorry for your loss.” Dr. Sanfords adds, almost as an afterthought.

“Thank you,” Preston forced himself to smile.

He thought he saw the beggar on the steps outside the station next to big brown dog, but the car was already waiting for him and he didn’t really want to check.

The Silver Twilight Lodge stood out a bright white building against the dwindling grey light of the approaching evening. It was an impressive building, backed against the dark woods and a path disappeared into the twisted trees that seemed to have crept a little closer whenever Preston looked at them. The house itself was built in the Victorian style with delicate white lattice work wrapping around the greying wood. Preston had never been inside before. Once when he’d been around sixteen he’d asked to join his father on one of his many visits, but he’d been rebuffed. He remembers his father patting his shoulder as he’d left.

“You don’t want to go, it’s terribly dull. All I’m going to be doing is some business.”

“But shouldn’t I go with you, to learn about our business.” Preston had attempted to reason. He was still young and had dreams of being exactly like the father he’d adored.

“Well if I do this right you won’t ever have to worry about that.” His father had laughed. “There’ll be plenty of money to care for you your whole life. You just enjoy it.”

He’d paused before walking out the door, suddenly serious. “Greed is a terrible sin. It leads you to make deals you shouldn’t and sacrifice the things that really matter for something you never needed. I’ve...you’re the only thing worth a damn I still have, let me protect you from my sin.”

They had never spoken of it again and Preston had never set foot in the building. It feels almost like a betrayal of his father wishes to do so now, though he isn’t going to do any business. He’d heeded his father’s wishes and spent his years cultivating other sins. Trusting, as his father told him to, that there would be money enough for whatever he needed. 

Inside the entryway is even darker. The heavy black curtains block out what little sun is left and the lamps barely cast enough light to show the way back to the main parlor. It is equally gloomy there and the red carpet and dark wood panelling seem to absorb whatever light there might be. Preston rather wishes he had decided not to come. The room is full of men he barely recognizes and couldn’t recall the names of even if he wanted to. But there is at least illicit champagne to ease the social pressures. Preston perhaps over indulges. He must not have been paying attention to his intake because he gets drunk far quicker than he’d ought to as he attempts to smile his way through inane conversations as the evening turns into full night. The room spins around him and he feels unsteady on his feet leaning heavily on a marble statue to stay upright. 

Dr. Sanford appears next to him at some point, a firm hand on his elbow leading out of the room. The rest of the men are ahead of them and they seem to have put on robes at some point. 

“What’s…” Preston tries to put the question together in his head and get it to come out his mouth the words slip around like silverfish evading him and his tongue is heavy and thick and nothing is quite coming together.

“Don’t worry, my boy, just a silly old tradition.” Dr. Sanford’s smile shows his teeth, and for a second Preston has this feeling of being devoured, pulled apart and consumed by… it’s gone, except a smell, strong and cloying. Preston shakes his head to clear the image but the smell remains. Dr. Sanford leads him down the short path into the woods his grip on Preston’s elbow like a vice. Dark red roses peer through the trees there petals opened even at the late hour. That’s...there was something about roses, something he was supposed to...he can’t quite remember but he thinks he should go. When he says as much to Dr. Sanford the man just laughs and tells him he can’t leave his own father’s memorial. The trees open up before them into a small clearing where the robed men have formed a circle.

Dr. Sanford pulls him into the circle. Pushing him down onto a rickety wooden chair slightly off center. Across the circle from him is another chair with a body slumped down in it. It looks familiar. It looks dead. Preston tries to get up, to get a closer look but finds he has neither the strength nor coordinations to stand back up. Around him a low chant starts. It’s unnerving, subtly wrong, it makes him feel like something hungry is watching him, like Dr. Sanford’s smile. 

As the chant grows around them the figure in the chair across from him starts to move. Little shakes at first, twitches in his arms and legs and then there one big final jerk and the body sits up.

“Dad?”

The chanting stops and the whole forest is totally silent, unearthly, unnaturally silent. 

“Preston?” The body, his father, asks looking around them confused. “What are you-he wasn’t supposed to be part of this, you promised.” His father looks past him to Dr. Sanford.

“Your responsibilities don’t go away just because you're dead, Simon.” Dr. Sanford voice floats past Preston’s ear as he stares at his father’s corpse struggling to stand.

“I made the arrangements. I got you the girl - you promised you wouldn’t use him.”

“Dad? What’s going on?” Preston asks.

“I’m so sorry, Preston,” His father turns towards him, stumbling on stiff legs that don’t seem to quite bend right. He drops to the ground in front of Preston’s chair. His white hands hover over Preston’s knee but don't ever come down to rest. This close the smell of formaldehyde and potpourri is overpowering. “I tried-I tried to protect you. I’m so, so sorry.” He keeps repeating sorry as two of the robed men grab him and pull him away to join the circle.

Preston is too distracted by the animated corpse of his father to notice someone coming up behind him until there’s something cold and sharp pressed against his neck. Across the circle his father is struggling against the hold of the robed men and all around them the chant is back louder than before. It feels like it’s ringing in Preston’s bones but no one’s mouth is moving. 

There’s a loud crack and something hot and wet splashes onto the back of his head. The knife falls away from his neck, slicing into his leg before dropping to the ground. 

There’s another loud crack and the circle of robed men breaks as they run into the woods. There’s a part of Preston’s mind that is screaming at him to get up, to take this chance and run, but he just sits in the chair staring at the blood slowly soaking into the ragged edges of his ripped pants. 

Someone’s arms come around him, hauling him up and dragging him away from clearing, past the twitching crumpled body of his father. 

Preston stares at it until the forest closes around them and the dark twisted trees are all he can see. The farther they get from the site the more the trees begin to straighten out, righting themselves into proper tree shape. The sounds of bugs and the night time rummaging of scavengers fills what had been an unnatural quiet. 

“Here you are.” The person who grabbed Preston says sliding Preston onto a bedroll propped up against one of the stately chestnut trees all around them. He crouches down in front of Preston. It’s the man from earlier at the train station. The one who said he was going to die. He had almost died. He had. Oh god. The air suddenly seems to thin and spots start forming in front of Preston’s eyes.

“Hey, hey, no it’s okay. I got you, you’re safe now, you’re going to be fine. Shhh, shhh, it’s okay, just breathe, it’s all going to be fine now.” The man rubs Preston’s arms reassuringly. He’s got a rough voice, the kind that comes from a little too much smoke, but in a nice way - calming, grounding and Preston swallows against the rising panic and slowly his breathing starts to even out, only for his hands to start shaking. The shaking moves up his arm until his whole body is shivering like it’s cold despite the warm early autumn night. 

The man shifts around, wrapping an arm around Preston’s shoulders and pulling him against his side, still murmuring “It’s okay.” 

A dog comes up, with a whine nudges Preston’s hand with its nose. 

Preston pats it’s head without really thinking about it. The dog huffs and lies down next to them resting its head on Preston’s leg. 

“That’s Duke, he’s a good dog.” The man says with soft adoration people only use when talking about their animals. 

Preston’s limbs still feel vaguely detached from his mind and his mouth is cottony and dry but he doesn’t feel as out of it as he had most of the night. 

“How did you know?”

“Well, I found him when he was just a little pup, defending this stray little kit from a bunch of kids. Little kit ran back to it’s mom after I scared them kids off, but this guy didn’t seem to have no one to go to, so we been travelling together ever since.” The man reaches across Preston to give the dogs ears a gentle scratch.

“No, I mean about me? How did you know what was happening to me?”

“Ah, well I had a dream about it.” The man shrugs uneasily. “Been dreaming about you on and off most of my life I think. Seeing you getting off that train in broad daylight was quite a shock. I meant to warn you but I made a terrible mess of it. As for just now, after I lost you in the crowd I spent most of the rest of the day tracking you down. Just lucky I found you in time.”

“Yeah, lucky.” Preston keeps petting the dog, running his fingers over the soft fur in a mindless rhythmic repetition that stills the shaking of his fingers. “Who are you?”

“Name’s Pete, that there’s Duke.” 

“I’m Preston.”

“I know.” The man - Pete - smiles. “You’re fairly well known - the prodigal son returns.”

“It wasn’t my choice to stay away,” Preston says. “My father insisted, he wanted....”

“Wanted to keep you away from his cult that was planning to sacrifice you to it’s evil god?”

It sounds absurd when Pete says it like that. It sounds crazy and Preston can’t help the laugh that bubbles up and he can’t stop it from turning into a sob. Pete stays next to him, a reassuring arm rubbing across his back and through his hair until the tears stop.

His hand slides off of Preston’s back as he finally sits up. It comes away dark with blood. Preston remembers the feeling of something wet hitting his back in the clearing and the loud crack.

“I’m covered in blood.”

“Yeah, sorry about that.”

“I have to go home. I have to clean this up. My jacket is ruined.”

“I’m not sure thats…” Pete starts to protest as Preston stands, shaky but more or less capable. 

“I have to go through my father’s papers.” Preston explains. “There was a girl. He said he’d made arrangements for a girl. I assume to replace me. I have to find her. I have to protect her. I can’t-”

“Okay.” Pete stands up, putting a reassuring hand on Preston’s arm. “We’ll find her, together.”


End file.
